


Playing Doctor

by Bellajuku



Category: Finder, Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: M/M, injuries!, nothing too graphic but if you're super squeamish you might not love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellajuku/pseuds/Bellajuku
Summary: Asami always seems to show up just in time to watch Akihito embarrass himself...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!!!
> 
> I'm exhausted writing this so if there are mistakes that's why. 
> 
> I know it's been a really long time since I've posted on here but I'm settled and ready to start writing again so hopefully I still have some readers out there. This was like a warm up, to get my character voices back and flex my writing muscles before working on my original stuff.
> 
> ALSO I want to continue In The Walls but I'm not sure if anyone is still interested in that so if you are, let me know. 
> 
> Anyway I'm glad to be back and I hope you guys enjoy this completely self indulgent ridiculously short piece of work.
> 
> Please enjoy and review!

_Asami always seems to show up just in time to watch Akihito embarrass himself._

 

That’s the only thought in Akihito’s head as he staggers backward, trying to recover from the _savage_ punch he’d just received smack in the middle of his face. He’d been doing pretty alright up until the point when he’d noticed Asami, standing on the edge of the brawl he was currently taking part in and looking more than a little inconvenienced. Now, his face is bloody, searing with pain, and he wants to blame it on Asami but this is actually Mitarai’s fault because, as much as Asami seems to walk in on calamity, Mitarai is generally it’s main cause. 

 

This is maybe the fifth time one of their collaborations has ended in a fist fight and only the _second_ time it isn’t between the two of them. In fact, the older journalist is several feet away, effectively beating the piss out of whatever low-level yakuza goon he can get his hands on while simultaneously shrieking at Akihito to _get his ass up and help God damn it._

 

That’s actually what he’d like to be doing but suddenly there is yet another set of hands on him and he’s fighting all over again, blood dripping down into his mouth as he twists and struggles and-

 

_Oh yeah, Asami’s here..._

 

Because he’s pretty used to the feel of his hands on his waist and the practiced way the taller man holds him at arm’s-length, supporting him while avoiding all manor of unintentional attacks. He relaxes, shows his submission, and steadies himself on Asami’s arm when he finally sets him down, slightly removed from the melee in front of them.

 

“Are you finished? I have dinner reservations.”

 

“Mitarai... has my... memory stick.”

 

Asami gives him a look that more or less says ‘you poor, incompetent child’ and Akihito wants to yell at him but when he opens his mouth, blood drips in and he gags. Asami steps away from him, making himself visible to the crowd of thugs. One or two immediately take notice and begin removing themselves from the scene.

  
“ _Oi._ ”

 

It isn’t particularly loud but it’s fathomably deep and on that note, the rest of the crowd panics and disperses. Kirishima appears on the fringe and snatches one of them up- Akihito vaguely recognizes him as the one who’d caught him in the face- yanking him backwards as Asami saunters over, most likely to give him a message for his boss. 

 

Akihito stumbles into the closest wall and slides down to sit on a ledge, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve only to have it come away soaked. His face feels puffy and hot and he’s breathing through his mouth more out of necessity than exhaustion. 

 

Mitarai staggers over to him, beaten, but not nearly as worse for wear. He has harsher features Akihito thinks, a stronger jawline; his face can take a punch. 

 

“You still... have my photos?”

 

“Of _course_ ,” He reaches into one of his photo vest’s many pockets and produces the USB drive that Akihito had ripped out of his camera and tossed to him, hoping to confuse their pursuers should they be caught. Akihito reaches for it but Mitarai jerks it away.

 

“You’ll get it when you get it. Right now you kind of look like you might pass out.”

 

“I’m _not..._ gonna pass... out. I just can’t really... breath.”

 

“Yeah that’s cause your nose is fucked up, c’mere.”

 

Mitarai leans forward and grabs his face without invitation, thumbing gracelessly at his nose.

 

“It’s totally broken man.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, all fucked up.”

 

Akihito groans. He doesn’t consider himself vain, not by a long shot, but a broken nose is a pain in the ass and never looked good on _anyone_. His face must betray his thoughts because Mitarai rolls his eyes.

 

“Calm down princess, I can fix that one-two-three.”

 

“Fix it? _Oww…_ “

 

Mitarai manhandles him into a better position, yanking his face upwards.

 

“Yeah. I set my cousin’s nose once, you could hardly tell I broke it. Hold still-”

 

“ _No. Move.”_

 

Asami yanks Mitarai backwards and takes his place in one fluid motion, looking slightly more harried than he had stepping into the fistfight moments ago. Mitarai is flabbergasted.

 

“Woah woah woah, who the fuck are you? Akihito-“

 

Kirishima steps between him and Asami, most likely to tell him ‘who the fuck’ Asami is. Akihito kind of wants to laugh but any expression makes his face feel like one giant bruise.

 

“Get my… USB drive… please…”

 

“Kirishima will handle it.”

 

Asami carefully takes Akihito’s face into his hands, his touch just shy of clinical, and examines him. His fingers probe gently, barely pressing, and Akihito finds it much less distressing than whatever Mitarai had just done.

 

“Is it bad?”

 

“It’s fractured, at the least. It’s going to have to be set. Incidentally, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let your little friends play doctor.”

 

Akihito rolls his eyes.

 

“Yeah, because… that was _so_ intimate… just now… God forbid another man… touches my _face_.”

 

Asami ignores him, lining his hands up against his face and slowly pressing, with more force this time, into the sides of Akihito’s nose. His touch is certain, unwavering.

 

“No, ‘ _God forbid’_ it heals crooked and I have to sedate you to get you into a doctor’s office.”

 

Akihito huffs through his nose and then groans as he realizes he can’t actually exhale. Asami makes the face he makes when he feels like laughing.

 

“Fuck you, what are you doing anyway?”

 

“Saving you a trip to the E.R..”

 

“Do you even know _how_ to set a broken nose?”

 

It’s a stupid question. Asami _always_ knows what he’s doing. He’d sold his soul to the devil at some point and now he’s some kind of morally bankrupt savant.

 

“You have a smart mouth for someone who’s terrified of doctors.”

 

“I’m _not._ I just hate going for every little thing.” 

 

“Last February you had a hundred and three degree fever and when I suggested you see a doctor you told me you’d rather die.”

 

“Because their hands are always so _cold_ and I hate the smell of disinfectant and this one time in high school I was having blood drawn and the girl didn’t know what she was doing and- Oww!”

 

“ _Hold still.”_

 

“You did that on purpose.”

 

“I would never.”

 

Akihito is tempted to flip him off but Asami is suddenly standing, pulling away from him, and Akihito screws up his face, wincing immediately.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Kirishima.”

 

“ _What’s wrong?”_

 

The other man strides over with a pitying look on his face, like he already knows where this is going. Akihito _does not._

 

“Asami I’m serious what are you doing?”

 

“Be good and I’ll give you something to suck on when we’re done.”

 

“ _Asami so help me God-”_

 

“Keep his head still.”

 

Kirishima takes a firm grip on his face while Asami moves behind him, hands coming around in front of his eyes, finger tips lined up on either side of the bridge of his nose.

 

“3... 2-”

 

Searing pain, only for a second, and then a cringe inducing _click_ and now Akihito can breath again, though it stills smells of copper. Both sets of hands leave him and Kirishima looks closely before nodding up at Asami.

 

“It’s strait.”

 

“Thank you, Kirishima.”

 

Strong hands haul Akihito up before he’s quite ready to stand and he grumbles, knowing the asshole just wants to watch him swoon. He ignores the offered arm and leans against the wall instead. 

 

“I can’t believe you just did that. That felt… ew…”

 

“You’re welcome. I’m still making you an appointment with Kimura-Sensei.”

 

“ _Why?”_

 

“He has to splint it, so it heals correctly. You’ll be fine, I’ll go with so you can squeeze my hand.”

 

“I don’t need you to go with me.”

 

“I’ll remember you that when I’m wrestling you into the car tomorrow.”

 

“This is all very weird but do you want this or not?”

 

Akihito looks up to see Mitarai holding out his USB drive and glancing between him and Kirishima, clearly unsettled. He pockets it, relieved to have gotten at least something for all his trouble.

 

“Thanks. Still fifty-fifty?”

 

“Uh well, since you almost just got me _killed_ and I pretty much had to fight like ten guys by myself I think you could give me _at least_ sixty-five… seventy… percent…”

 

Mitarai trails off, and Akihito realizes he’s staring vacantly over his shoulder. He follows his gaze towards Asami, who’s looking at his colleague the same way he looks at convenience-store sushi: disgusted.

 

“But I mean… fifty’s fine. Fifty’s good.”

 

Akihito nods, not sure if he should be annoyed or amused by Asami.

 

“I’d uh… I’d even take forty. You know, cause you got hurt…”

 

Deffinetely amused. Mitarai is transfixed, eyes glazed and unblinking while Asami’s glower escalates to levels typically reserved roaches and polyester suits.

 

“You know what? Don’t even worry about it. I’ll uh.. I’ll see you later.”

 

He slinks off, checking over his shoulder more than once, and Akihito turns to smack Asami on the arm.

 

“You’re awful,” 

 

“You’re laughing.”

 

He’s right, but Akihito pushes him anyway and lets himself be dragged along, pulled under Asami’s arm.

 

“Let’s go, our reservations were for ten minutes ago.”

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

“Well if I’d known I would be picking you up from a brawl, I would have made them for later.”

 

“Asami I’m not going anywhere, I’m covered in blood, no restaurant would let me in.”

 

Asami pulls back to look at him properly, then nods his acquiescence.

 

“I’ve seen worse but if you’d prefer take-out-“

 

“I’d prefer take-out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whew that was short! I love writing injury!/illness! fics though so that was a nice way too ease back into everything.
> 
> Once again, if you enjoyed, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you,
> 
> Izzy


End file.
